One Hug: Two Views
by Austenfan
Summary: SPOILERS for Half Wit Short character study Chase and House. Emphasis on fatherson aspect. This is my first time for this type of story. As always comments and constructive critiques are appreciated.


"One Hug: Two Views"

**First Side**

I didn't mean to say anything. I kept telling myself that I shouldn't. I mean this is House. He doesn't want sympathy, he doesn't want anything. But the thought of cancer cells running rampant through his body... destroying him in a year or less... I just couldn't take it.

I had to do it, I had to say goodbye. That was one of the things that I most regretted in my relationship with my father. There weren't any goodbyes. He never told me that he had cancer. He thought that I was better off not knowing. Supposedly he didn't want to "burden" me. I couldn't let it end that way with House. Sure we had a strained relationship. I'm sure that I needed him a hell of a lot more than he needed me, but he was more of a father to me than my own father had been.

I told him that I was going to hug him- the words tumbling out of slightly trembling lips, and then I remember asking him if he had anything to say. I didn't fully listen to the obligatory quip that came out of his mouth. I simply went to him and threw my arms around his neck.

I held on to him for dear life. Breathing his scent in and out, trying to fix the feel, the touch, the smell of him into my memory. I knew all too well how quickly those things faded, until you were left struggling for any impressions to cling to.

I felt the lump in my throat start to grow. And a tight, constricted feeling in my chest. Then finally my eyes welled up. This isn't how it is supposed to be. I know that he's never going to be proud of me and I know that I said that I was done trying, but if he could just be alright I promised that I'd try again. _Somehow I'll get it right this time. Somehow I'll make him proud of me, make him love me._

Cameron could glibly talk about taking another job somewhere else if he wasn't around. Not me. I couldn't even let it enter my imaginings. _He had to be around._

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard him ask, "Are you crying?" For a brief second I wanted to nod, I wanted to bawl, I wanted to feel His arms encircling me and comforting me. But I knew that was impossible. Weakness and vulnerably were prey for this man. I had shown more than enough of both. I'd be flayed alive if I dared to show anymore. Worse, I'd get the look of distain and disgust. I gathered myself together and moved away. "No. I wasn't crying." I maintained and went back to work. It was a strangely familiar feeling- packing away one's emotions, stuffing them and pressing them until you barely noticed the pain of the uncried tears and unscreamed screams and undealt with pain.

**The Other Side**

I knew that eventually he'd come in. The boy thinks that he hides everything, but those blue-green eyes always seem to reveal much more than he wants them to. I wasn't sure exactly what he'd say but certainly not what ended up awkwardly tumbling out of his mouth.

Chase wasn't physical in that way. He wasn't Mr. Touchy-Feely- that had always tended to be Cameron's department. So the fact that he actually told me that he was going to hug me felt really strange. For as much crap as I gave him about cancer-girl, I knew that this wasn't something that he was entirely comfortable with. Much easier to stay aloof and slightly removed.

I quickly debated what to say- I couldn't blithely accept it. I couldn't show that I wanted it, but yet I couldn't seem to summon a retort that would have crushed him and sent him running (something that should have been an easy task). I settled for "If you are going to grab my ass, don't start something unless you are going to finish it" I thought that would grant me a small reprieve- a roll of the eyes, or shake of the head maybe. This delay would give me time to adjust. But it didn't- he didn't even seem to hear me.

He threw his arms around me. My arms hung limply to my side. I didn't know what to do with them. Part of me wanted to push him off and say "You idiot! I'm NOT dying, I'm just trying to feel better." and part of me wanted to embrace him back. Gently pat his back, massage his shoulders- tell him that it was going to be fine. In the end my arms stayed where they were.

I felt his head on my shoulder, his soft golden bangs lightly brushing against my head. Even as I tried to get back to working the case I noticed his body tensing and his breathing getting a little ragged. _Oh god_ I thought _I really did it this time, the wombat is going to end up in a sobbing heap on the floor._

"Are you crying?" I asked. I had to ask, because I knew what asking would do and I couldn't stand to feel him in pain. It was such an idiotic thing to be upset over anyway.

He sniffed lightly and drew himself up, and away from me. He turned his head, "No. I wasn't crying." he lied with an unsure voice.

In thinking about the case, Chase had shown me what I needed to see. The patient did have a tremendous gift, a gift that frankly I envied- but he wasn't happy, he wasn't being what he could be. Sometimes I really think that if Chase lost some of the baggage- myself included that there would be no telling what he could accomplish.

As Chase strode out, I thanked him for the hug. Obviously making certain to put enough sarcasm in my tone that he would be sure to feel that I was pushing him away. I didn't want him to know that I wasn't. That I was serious. That I had needed to be held and to feel like I mattered to someone. I wanted to feel that someone would truly shed tears for me if I was to go. Tears that would count. Not like the people that cry over everything sappy or pathetic or tragic. But from someone who tried to protect themselves in front of other people, especially those that would think that they were weak or vulnerable. Those tears would count.

I almost said "son" just before he left, but quickly thought better of it. He already had enough issues without adding an additional dysfunctional father figure image engraved in his mind. _After everything pans out he'll need to be able to hate me and let go._ Why that thought troubled me I wasn't sure, but I knew that it was time for some Vicodian.


End file.
